Like steel placed into a furnace, he realized, the full implication of the ordeal settling upon him.
First, it's broken, hammered into submission, then it's reforged, heated and shaped, and broken again, tested and reformed, until nothing impure remained, until only the strongest essence endured.
He remembered… Eighteen-year-old Vaelric had realized this only after surviving the seventieth thunderbolt, after enduring far more agony. This time… he understood far earlier, a testament to the accelerated wisdom of his second chance.
A grin, slow and painful but undeniably triumphant, slowly spread across his bruised face, distorting his features into a mask of fierce joy.
"So that's your purpose… to make me stronger than I was before. To burn away the dross and leave only the pure essence."
